


Stiles Stilinski Doesn't Sleep

by galamiel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Insomnia, Panic Attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:09:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galamiel/pseuds/galamiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some nights he feels like he’s dying, his heart racing a million miles per hour, his chest tight. He can’t breathe, his chapped lips opening and closing. He’s a fish gasping for water on dry land, a hook in his mouth. He’s a drowning man, he’s buried alive, his lungs on fire, his head exploding. When you’re drowning, you don’t breathe in until you’re about to pass out, that’s when the pain stops, that’s when you’re finally at peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiles Stilinski Doesn't Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> I rarely write. It's not something I love to do and it's not something I'm very good at, but occasionally I get the urge to do so, like I did today. Hope you enjoy it!

Stiles Stilinski doesn’t sleep.

Maybe it’s a side effect from the adderall, from popping so many pills that he can’t remember when yesterday ended and today began. He stays awake for days on end with the medicine, his mind sharp, eyes wide. He manages perfect grades, manages to be on the lacrosse team, manages to somehow chase Scott from one end of town and back every single night, manages to stay awake on the full moon, waiting, wondering, _is tonight the night I’m going to die?_

But Stiles knows it’s not from the pills. The pills are a way to stay awake, to prevent him from laying down in that small bed. They’re a medication for the symptoms, the shakes that wrack his skinny frame, a pill to stop the tears that fall down his face, a pill to keep him focusing on something else, anything else, please not this.

Some nights he feels like he’s dying, his heart racing a million miles per hour, his chest tight. He can’t breathe, his chapped lips opening and closing. He’s a fish gasping for water on dry land, a hook in his mouth. He’s a drowning man, he’s buried alive, his lungs on fire, his head exploding. _When you’re drowning, you don’t breathe in until you’re about to pass out, that’s when the pain stops, that’s when you’re finally at peace._

And then he’s awake, clothes plastered to his sweaty body, and he’s crying again. His wet eyelashes rest against his cheeks as the tears fall from his eyes, rivers eroding their way through the land. He wonders if one day he’ll have cried enough to have tracks in his skin, lines where the tears have gone over and over again. He wonders if people will see them and know. 

He can’t stay in bed. He never can. Thats where the bad things always happen. He changes his clothes, sits down at his desk, takes another pill, or maybe two or three. He waits for the feeling to come back into his numb fingers and toes, waits for it all to go away.

He wonders if that’s what his life has become. A big waiting game. Waiting for something good to happen. Waiting to be needed. Waiting, watching, wondering, what’s happening now, who’s in danger, and why, why can’t he do anything about it? His hands clench, fingernails digging pale crescent moons into his skin, and he starts to cry again. Moons. It’s all about the moon, now, isn’t it? His life revolves around the moon, revolves around keeping everyone safe and sound, revolves around worrying. Revolves around waiting.

He sits there, goosebumps raising on his chilled flesh. He wonders what it would be like to not worry, just for ten seconds, to have his mind calm instead of racing at the speed of light. He wonders what it would be like to not feel responsible for everyone around him. They didn’t ask him to feel like this, but he does. He can’t help it. They’re his, they’re all he has now, and he has to protect them. Being human leaves him with little ways to go about that other than worrying, other than taking care of them, running along with the pack and picking them up when they stumble. Making sure his dad eats healthy, making sure Scott and Allison stay together, making sure that Derek just stays alive (and he wonders then how many times the alpha plans on dragging him into life and death situations.) Thats how he protects people.

Because he can’t lose anyone else. 

And there’s this overwhelming fear that something is going to happen, something terrible, something devastating, something even worse than what seems to happen every other weekend. It’s constant, it never leaves him alone, not even when he pops so many pills that his limbs feel boneless.

He turns back to his desk and opens his laptop, begins researching again. Maybe there’s some cure, somewhere, some way to get Scott the normal life he wants.

No, Stiles Stilinkski doesn’t sleep. There are too many things to get done, too many people to take care of, too much to worry about.

Too many memories.


End file.
